Three hours later..

What a jumble of emotions. I’m being welcomed into the strongest clan, not just as a guest but as a top rank’s significant other. A position of prestige, yet one laced with irony—because that very top rank has every intention of destroying the clan from within. I kept my expression smooth, unreadable.

I haven’t yet experienced the clan’s luxury firsthand, but judging by the extravagant attire of the high-ranking officials around me, I’m in for a life of comfort. Flowing silks, embroidered patterns that shimmer under the lantern lights, and heavy ornamental jewelry—all signs of status and privilege. The scent of incense and rare perfumes lingers in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of roasted meats and spiced teas being carried in silver trays by quiet-footed attendants.

A bodyguard assigned to me leans in, his voice low and professional as he whispers into my ear, “Do you want me to grab any nourishment for you, miss?”

I raise my palm in a polite refusal. “No, thanks.” I have no appetite, though I can’t tell if it’s because of nerves or the sheer strangeness of my situation.

At least I’m dressed for the occasion—though I can’t help but think I could have gone for a better look. My red maxi dress clings to my form just enough to show elegance without being overly bold.. An orange sun is stitched along my right shoulder, its rays extending outward in delicate embroidery. Leo is particular about symbolism in clothing, always ensuring our outfits carry unspoken messages wherever we go. To outsiders, it’s a mere artistic choice. To us, it’s a statement.

Most clans allow their members to wear whatever they please, only requiring a designated battle uniform for combat. But even in such a system, friendly fire is common. Rank and recognition mean everything in a world where power is earned through force, and sometimes, a misplaced strike is just another way to test the hierarchy.

A well-dressed, short man weaved his way through the crowd toward us, his tailored navy-blue jacket. The air around him carried the faint scent of aged wine, no doubt from the glass he swirled lazily in one hand. Unlike the others who kept their distance—thanks to the presence of my two towering bodyguards—this man seemed emboldened, if not outright entitled.

He took a slow sip before raising his glass slightly in my direction. “To you, madam.” he said smoothly, though there was an air of smugness beneath his toast.

I arched a brow, meeting his gaze with confusion. He responded with an exaggerated bow, a dramatic flourish that made it clear he fancied himself a man of importance. “I see you’re from out of town. Quite the esteemed guest, too, judging by the fact that you have two of Sun’s finest guarding you.” His tone dripped with intrigue, but the glint in his eye told me he wasn’t just making casual conversation.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Then, with a self-assured smirk, he extended his free hand. “Care for a dance?”

I barely held back my sigh and rolled my eyes, already tired of his theatrics. One of my bodyguards shook his head, his voice firm yet polite. “She does not.”

The man snickered, swirling the last remnants of his wine. “You might not know who I am, but I pay plenty in taxes and donate even more. Leo knows me well, so you’d best dance with me.” His smirk widened into something more condescending. “Just because you’re some hotshot somewhere else doesn’t mean you can disrespect me.”

He reached for my hand and attempted to pull me toward the dance floor. His fingers closed around my wrist, his confidence unwavering—until he actually tried to move me.

His feet scraped against the polished floor as he tugged with increasing effort. My arm remained fully extended, my body unmoving, while he struggled like a man trying to haul a fallen tree. The murmur of the crowd quieted as onlookers took notice. Whispers spread as they watched this pompous, well-fed man struggle to drag a woman just above half his weight.

Annoyed, I spread my fingers and shifted my stance just slightly.

He lost his balance instantly, his grip failing as he tumbled backward. The stem of his wine glass snapped as it struck the ground, the deep red liquid splattering onto his fine suit. A jagged shard left a small tear in the fabric, though his wounded pride was far more visible than any damage to his clothing.

A nearby waiter arrived but offered no assistance. Instead, he merely stepped around the fallen man and quietly cleaned up the mess, his expression neutral.

I leveled my gaze at the pathetic heap before me and spoke calmly, ensuring my words carried enough weight to crush whatever was left of his dignity. “I’m the Piercing Serpent’s girlfriend.”

The shift in his demeanor was instant. His eyes widened with a flash of genuine fear. Whatever arrogance he had left evaporated, replaced by the realization of who exactly he had just embarrassed himself in front of. He pushed himself up, dusted off his ruined suit, and hurried away, his shoulders stiff with humiliation.

The sharp ring of a bell cut.

A voice called out above the crowd: “The new Flame is entering!”

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I stepped onto the golden-red carpet, the fabric plush beneath my polished shoes. The grand hall stretched before me, illuminated by the flickering glow of hanging lanterns and the glint of gold filigree woven into every pillar. My posture remained straight, composed, though I couldn’t shake the nagging awareness of my attire.

Zero had gifted me this white suit, swearing it was the height of fashion. What he failed to mention was that it was popular in his day. The cut, though well-fitted, carried an outdated flair—broad shoulders, a high collar, details that set me apart not in prestige but in an almost laughable way. I could already feel the whispers forming among the spectators, but I ignored them. I wasn’t here for their approval.

I continued forward until I stood directly in front of the Golden Throne. A chair no one but Leo could occupy. Because... he is the strongest in the world.

I pictured Zero sitting there in his prime—a younger version of the man I had come to respect, the one who shaped my path. The vision felt surreal, a glimpse into a past I never lived yet somehow understood. But reality pulled me back.

I lowered myself onto one knee. The only time I ever would. The only time I had to.

The room held its breath as he raised his sword, the blade gleaming under the warm light. He brought it down gently, the dull edge resting against my right shoulder.

I closed my eyes.

His voice rang clear. “I now ordain Vellin—who shall be called the Serpent by his lesser—as the Fifth Flame.”

The real thing starts now.